"Well," pursued Rob, with a chuckle, "she hasn't as much breath as she used to have, but she always will sing in the hymns, and sometimes it's pretty hard work for her to keep up. Last night she lost her breath more than common; and once, after she had stopped to puff a minute, she struck in again, full tilt, about an octave and a half higher than we were, and it made a most awful noise."
"Poor old woman!" said Bess, trying to speak soberly, while Fred's shoulders shook. "You shouldn't laugh at such old people, Robin. Where's your chivalry?"
"I can't help it, cousin Bess. It was too funny to hear her go 'peep,' way up high."
Bess felt her dignity fast collapsing at Rob's, imitation of the high, quavering voice, and, to change the subject, she said,—
"Fred and I went to the shore this afternoon."
"Did you?" asked Rob. "Why didn't you wait till after school and let me go, too? I haven't had a drive with you for ever so long."
"You couldn't have had one to-day," replied Fred. "We walked."
"Well, you might have waited for me, anyhow."
"How do you know we wanted you?" asked Fred teasingly.
Rob frowned for a moment, and then, determined not to be thrown out from his jolly mood, answered with a laugh,—